A soft voice awoke him. He looked up hastily and saw the lady whose arms, half an hour before, had clung unresistingly around his neck. She was unquestionably very pretty, and the returning flush upon her cheeks gave the alabaster clearness of her brow a singular effrontery of beauty. Elsewhere, or under different circumstances, it would have produced in Leacraft a momentary suspicion of artifice. As it was, it held his attention long enough for him to notice that the hair covering her head luxuriantly was a raven black, and was gathered beneath the hood of a soft brown sealskin fur, which clothed her form, while two wonderful opal bracelets, relieved with ruby jewels, in alternating links, most incongruously graced her wrists, the gloves on her fingers were evidently distended by rings, and a superb necklace of diamonds and peridots encircled closely her neck, seen through the half-opened cape. Leacraft rose mechanically to his feet, still conscious of effort, and looked wonderingly at the young face, and at that of her companion, Mr. Thomsen, the Scotchman. “My cousin and I”--the voice was exquisitely gentle and expressive--“can never repay you. It is a slight thing to say to you how much we thank you, but it is not impossible that we can both yet show you our gratitude in some manner that will mean more than words, mean as much for you as your sacrifice meant for us. Is not that so, Ned?” She turned to Mr. Thomsen, who advanced and accosted Leacraft with courteous alacrity. “I am sure, sir, you appreciate our sense of devotion to yourself. You extricated my cousin and myself from a certain and dangerous imprisonment. It might have been something more dreadful. And perhaps,” with a reluctant gaze at the young woman, and a smile of understanding for Leacraft, “you may wish to understand better how the perilous predicament you found us in occurred. It was very simple. This lady, Miss Ethel Tobit,” Leacraft bowed, “was left with myself, her cousin, at the home of her father and mother, on Pitt street, to complete the packing of a quantity of valuables which were at the last moment to be placed in a safe and left there for recovery later; it does now seem as if that word was a poor mask for Never. We had brought food for the house, and felt no fears of escaping before the streets became impassable. Then this last storm broke, and this afternoon, late in the day, we started out--but we had waited too long. My cousin sank under the exertion; I was disabled by a fall, in which my side was seriously bruised. We took refuge in St. Andrew’s Church, whose doors stood providently unclosed, though to swing them out I had to dig with my hands a crevice for their movement, in the rising snow banks forcing them constantly back. Our vigil began. The city in all directions around us was deserted. We could hear the workers on Princes street occasionally, in the lulls of the hurricane, and the